y were is neither fit for me to tell, nor you to hear.

"The two wretched lovers cast themselves upon each other's neck; drank
each other's salt tears with the last kisses; accused themselves as
the cause of each other's death; and then, rising above fear and grief,
broke out into triumph at thus dying for and with each other; and
proclaiming themselves the martyrs of love, commended their souls to
God, and then stepped joyfully and proudly to their doom."

"And what was that?" asked half-a-dozen trembling voices.

"Don Sebastian, as I have said, was shot to death with arrows; but as
for the Lady Miranda, the wretches themselves confessed afterwards, when
they received due vengeance for their crimes (as they did receive it),
that after all shameful and horrible indignities, she was bound to
a tree, and there burned slowly in her husband's sight, stifling her
shrieks lest they should wring his heart by one additional pang, and
never taking her eyes, to the last, off that beloved face. And so died
(but not unavenged) Sebastian de Hurtado and Lucia Miranda,--a Spanish
husband and a Spanish wife."

The Don paused, and the ladies were silent awhile, for, indeed, there
was many a gentle tear to be dried; but at last Mrs. St. Leger spoke,
half, it seemed, to turn off the too painful impression of the over-true
tale, the outlines whereof may be still read in old Charlevoix.

"You have told a sad and a noble tale, sir, and told it well; but,
though your story was to set forth a perfect husband, it has ended
rather by setting forth a perfect wife."

"And if I have forgotten, madam, in praising her to praise him also,
have I not done that which would have best pleased his heroical and
chivalrous spirit? He, be sure, would have forgotten his own virtue in
the light of hers; and he would have wished me, I doubt not, to do the
same also. And beside, madam, where ladies are the theme, who has time
or heart to cast one thought upon their slaves?" And the Don made one of
his deliberate and highly-finished bows.

"Don Guzman is courtier enough, as far as compliments go," said one of
the young ladies; "but it was hardly courtier-like of him to find us so
sad an entertainment, upon a merry evening."

"Yes," said another; "we must ask him for no more stories."

"Or songs either," said a third. "I fear he knows none but about
forsaken maidens and despairing lovers."

"I know nothing at all about forsaken ladies, madam; because ladi